New Traditions
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. John Bates has no idea how his life is going to change when Anna Smith asks a favour of him.


**A/N:** And here we are, after the end of Downton. This gift is for **me-and-mister-bates** as part of the Team Bates Secret Santa Exchange over on Tumblr. I really hope that you like it, and that you've had a great day! :) And the same goes for anyone else who reads this too. :) It was inspired by a post over on OTP Prompts. The rating is for a few swears but the rest is tame.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _New Traditions_

A cup of coffee, that was just what he needed. John sighed as he leaned his head back against the chair, pushing his glasses to the top of his head. God, what a day. The work had been non-stop from dawn, and he was beginning to feel the effects of it now, especially after another sleepless night.

The prestigious Downton Abbey Hotel was currently hosting a large wedding party, famous guests descending on the swanky town from all corners of the world. John had never heard of the couple tying the knot, but he had been told in good faith by Anna that they were two of the richest and most popular celebrities around. The modern music industry held no interest for him. It was little wonder that he had no clue. Anna had only smiled affectionately.

Robert was over the moon at having such a booking, of course; his bank balance would benefit handsomely. But for the rest of the staff, it meant one thing. More hard work than ever, and so close to Christmas at that. The bride and groom were due to tie the knot in a couple of days. Apparently Christmas Eve was the most magical time of the year to get married. John didn't understand the trend of marrying at Christmas. If he were to marry again, he would prefer something else, a mundane date that could be made special by such a glorious occasion. Then again, what did he know? His first marriage to his wife Vera had been a complete disaster, and here he was three years after divorce, still bitter and alone. He was tired, that was all. He hadn't had a minute to himself in the past four days getting all the preparations ready. He had barely had more than a couple of hours of sleep each night.

John didn't mind the extra hard work. He liked being busy and having things to do. But it certainly didn't make it easier to bear with the likes of Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien around. They were two of the more senior members of staff alongside him and Anna, but they did not set a good example to the younger workers, who would be easily influenced by their bad attitudes. It was exhausting trying to keep everyone in line at this time of year, but especially now.

His five snatched minutes alone were interrupted by the creaking of the door. Closing his eyes and breathing hard through his nose, he tried to block out the sounds of the clattering around the staffroom, nearly as large as his whole downstairs at home. There went his peace.

"You look like you're having fun."

At the sound of the voice, his eyes snapped open. Anna stood in front of him, one eyebrow raised, clutching a mug of tea in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other.

"I didn't know it was you," he said. Having Anna interrupt his peace instead of someone like Sarah O'Brien made things infinitely better.

"A woman of mystery, me," she said, taking the seat beside him.

"You ought to have been an accountant. No one knows what they get up to."

"Or a burglar."

He snorted with laughter accepting the chocolate digestive she offered him. "Should I be worried? You know where I live."

"Yeah, but I like you. Thomas and Sarah, however..."

"I'll provide you a staunch alibi," he offered, and she giggled, bumping against his shoulder gently. He caught scent of her perfume, and shivered. She always smelled fantastic. "What time are you on 'til tonight?"

"Eleven," she groaned. "Tom's relieving me then."

"Tom?" John frowned. "I thought it had been decided that he would only work day shifts now that…now that he has to look after little Sybbie?"

"Well, that was the plan."

"Why wasn't I informed of the change?"

"Thomas wanted the night off. I think Robert okayed it."

"Robert should know better," said John, trying to control the volume of his voice. "Tom is his son-in-law. He should be doing everything he can to help him right now, not make things worse."

"They're both grieving," Anna said quietly.

"But it's important that Tom be there for his daughter. Robert can't take him away from her. She's the only thing…" He trailed off.

"The only thing he has left of his wife, I know," said Anna softly. "Maybe you could talk to him?"

"Robert has closed off. I can't get him to talk to me. And…well, I understand what it's like, to want to be alone. It's no good to push someone."

Anna looked as if she wanted to ask about how he knew these things, but to her credit didn't press. Instead she raised her mug to her lips and took a draft of coffee.

"I still can't believe she's gone," Anna whispered. "And so close to Christmas too."

"I know," said John. "Let's not dwell on it now."

"You're right," she agreed. She wouldn't want that. Not Sybil. She loved life and she would want everyone to celebrate."

John smiled sadly. His best friend's youngest daughter had been a little firecracker, defiant and stubborn to the extremes, often driving her parents up the wall with her refusal to comply with what they wanted for her (some kind of profession, a lawyer or a doctor), but John had always admired that spark in her, that refusal to let others carve her path out for her. Tom Branson, an Irish rogue who wanted to be a journalist but who had somehow found himself in the corporate machine, would never have been Robert's choice for a son-in-law—he didn't make nearly enough money for Robert's liking despite having one of the best positions in his organisation and being able to manage perfectly respectably. But Sybil had stuck strong to her maxims and refused to let him go. She'd married him, had his child. And now she'd died for it. John cleared his throat and tried to focus on happier things.

Not that there was much. The holiday season never inspired thoughts of joy in him. Still, he knew that most others loved it, and he ought to make the effort to integrate.

"Have you got any celebrations planned for Christmas, then?" he asked, sipping his tea.

Anna sighed wistfully. "Not this year. Mum doesn't feel up to it. So it'll just be a quiet one. My sister is bringing her boyfriend over, and it'll just be us."

"I'm sorry, Anna. I didn't think." Christ, he could kick himself. How could he have worded the question so flippantly. Of course Anna wouldn't be in the mood to celebrate. It was the first Christmas the Smith household would be without its head. John had vivid, unpleasant memories of the day when she had been informed at work that her father had been involved in an accident and had passed away in the ambulance. He had held her as she'd sobbed, inconsolable, and had tried to make himself available to help her in any way he could in the weeks and months that had followed. She had slowly regained her sunny disposition, which he was eternally grateful for—he couldn't have borne it if her light had been snuffed out by cruel circumstances beyond her control.

"It's all right, honestly. You don't need to walk on eggshells. You were amazing, you know you were. I like to be able to talk to you about it. Mum still finds it hard, but you never tell me to stop."

"Nor would I. If you ever want to talk, I'm always here for you," he reassured her. She smiled, squeezing his forearm. Then her smile dropped.

"Actually, there _is_ something that I would like to talk about."

"Yes?" he encouraged.

"It's about Christmas."

John had not been expecting that, that was for sure. Truly curious now, he prompted gently, "Go on."

"Well, I was just wondering if you might do a swap with me?" she said. "I'm down to work Christmas Eve and normally I wouldn't dream of asking and I hate to pull the sympathy card, but with it being the first one without…"

"All right, stop right there," John interrupted her. "You could never pull the sympathy card, don't ever worry about that. You work harder than anyone else under this roof, and you never complain. Of course I'll swap."

Her eyes brightened, at his answer or at his compliments, he couldn't say. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I didn't have anything planned. I don't see Mother until Christmas Day anyway, so there's no harm done."

"Thank you so much, John. You're the best." She squeezed his hand hard. Her fingers were warm and soft. His heart jolted, as if he'd missed a step on the stairs. "I'll take your New Year's Eve shift to make it up to you."

"What? There's no need to do that, honestly. You should go out, have fun. An old codger like me will just be sat in front of the TV all night waiting for the fireworks. I might not even stay up to see the New Year in. It would be a waste for you."

But Anna shook her head stubbornly. "It's not fair to make you work both Christmas and New Year. I didn't have any real concrete plans. I probably would have just gone out with the girls to a bar or something."

"There you are, then. You would have gone out and had a good time. Maybe even met someone." Just the thought of that made John feel sick to the stomach. He'd never heard Anna ever mention a boyfriend or a date in the two years that he'd known her, but it was surely something that she wanted.

Anna snorted. "I'm not sure I'd find the man of my dreams in a club when I'm out on the lash. I'd prefer to meet someone I intend to spend my life with when I've got all of my faculties about me. How do you know if you're compatible with someone if you're drunk?"

John's mouth twisted. Without meaning too, Anna had dredged up unwanted memories of his own. He and Vera had constantly been drunk, engaged in a war of fighting and making up that he had been too weak to break. It had been years since he'd last been with Vera, but the memories were still raw.

Noticing his disquiet, Anna frowned. "Is something wrong?"

John forced himself to smile. "Of course not. And really, you don't have to cover the New Year shift."

"I won't argue with you. One good turn deserves another. I wouldn't be a very good friend if I just let you do all the crap without doing you a favour in return."

There was fire in her eyes, and he knew the battle was lost. It was pointless to fight her when she had the bit between her teeth. From experience he had learned that he might as well just give up now—he had never beaten Anna when she had an idea in her head, nor did he have the strength to deny her.

"All right then," he agreed reluctantly. "Don't be too disheartened if all your girlfriends meet the blokes of their dreams while you're doodling behind a reception desk waiting for a bunch of rich toffs to return drunk as lords."

"Believe me, I won't be jealous."

The words lingered. John's neck prickled at the look in her eyes. It was almost—

"Well, well, well, what's going on in here?"

Sarah O'Brien's silky, poisonous voice broke through the odd atmosphere that had been settling over them. He jerked back at once to find the other woman standing by the threshold, regarding them with sly eyes. He set down his cup with a clatter.

"Nothing's going on," he said loudly.

Anna leaned back, much more at ease. She crossed her legs—he tried not to notice the way that the hem of her dress hitched up revealing two more inches of perfect, shapely thigh—and fixed the older woman with a steady look.

"Last time I checked it wasn't a punishable offence to take my break in the staffroom," she said.

O'Brien's eyes narrowed. She never took kindly to backchat. It was a wonder that any new starters ever lasted under her acerbic, nasty tongue.

"You want to watch yourself, Miss Smith," she said. "You know what office gossip is like. People might start to suspect that you're sleeping with the boss."

If it was meant to embarrass her, then Anna did a very good job of remaining nonchalant. More than that—she threw back her head and _laughed_. John felt as a sting of hurt worse than a bee's, but before the sensation could take too deep a root, she said, "Quite frankly, Sarah, I couldn't care less what people say about me. It's rather flattering. Makes my life seem more interesting than it really is, anyway."

Flattering? She thought it was flattering that people might say she was sleeping with _him_?

O'Brien's mouth flattened into a sour line. "You've obviously got some low standards if you think _that's_ flattering."

Anna rolled her eyes but said nothing more. But the moment had been lost, and now John felt awkward with O'Brien hovering in the room, making herself a cup of tea and pretending not to be eavesdropping on their conversation. He cleared his throat and stood up.

"My break's over anyway," he said. "Best get back to work."

"Oh, all right, then." Was it his ears, or did Anna sound disappointed? He tried to regulate the beating of his heart and hoped his smile didn't seem too forced.

"Enjoy the rest of your break."

"With her for company? Not likely," Anna muttered under her breath. John stifled a snort of laughter. With Anna's wry grin in return locked away in his heart, he left the staffroom behind.

* * *

"Are you sure you've got everything you need?"

"Yes, Robert," John sighed as he settled himself behind the reception desk. His best friend of more than twenty years stood on the other side of the desk, clutching at his briefcase, already bundled into his overcoat.

"I'm not sure how comfortable I am leaving you and Thomas covering the same shift."

"We'll be fine. I know you'll provide me with an alibi if I need it in the morning."

Robert looked horrified.

"I was joking," John said hastily. "I might not like him, but Thomas is good at his job. He'll probably drive me mad grouching all night about how he's stuck here instead of enjoying himself on a night out, but we'll survive."

"Well, if you're sure," said Robert reluctantly, even as he moved towards the front entrance.

"I'm sure. Go and have a nice evening."

His friend's face shadowed. "We'll try, anyway."

John winced. "Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't think."

Robert sighed, heavy with regret. "No need to apologise. We have to learn to cherish Sybil's memory. It is painful to think about her now, but with time…" He cleared his throat, shaking his head. John suspected he was on the verge of tears. "I'll say goodnight, Bates."

"Goodnight." John remained staring at the space his friend had vacated long after he had gone. Only when he heard Thomas cursing in the back did he stir, moving to see what the problem was. He found the younger man rubbing at his shin.

"Isn't there somewhere else to put all this shit?" he said resentfully, glaring at the boxes of things that crowded the back office. It did make navigating the room difficult, but John felt his hackles rise all the same.

"They're Robert's," he said. "Some of Sybil's things. He wanted to throw them out but we're keeping them here. His actions are being dictated by grief and he might change his mind one of these days. A keepsake is better than having nothing left of her."

Thomas had the good grace to look deeply ashamed. "I didn't know."

"Just get out front for a bit. I'll move things around in here, make a bit more space."

Thomas skulked off to man the front desk with his tail between his legs. John heard several voices shouting farewells at him as their rich patrons headed off for a night on the town. He wondered what Anna was up to now. She'd told him that it would be a quiet night, but perhaps her sister and the boyfriend might fancy a drink. It would be nice for her to get out there and have fun. He knew that her father would want that for her.

"Bates, there's a problem with one of the bathrooms!"

Thomas' shout broke through his musings. Sighing, John ran his hand through his hair. No rest for the wicked, even on Christmas Eve.

* * *

It had been hectic. After the problem with the toilet someone else complained about the shower, which had led to a rather long bollocking from some up-and-coming actor who had already broken into the alcohol provided in the mini-fridge when their handyman Andy didn't have the right parts to fix it. In the end John had pacified the situation by offering him an even more luxurious room for the exact same price, and then Thomas had received an earful of abuse for asking one particularly rowdy group to keep the noise down as they passed through the lobby on their way out for a good time. Whoever said that Christmas was the season to be jolly had certainly got that wrong.

The two of them sat behind the desk now in silence. Thomas had whipped out his phone and was playing some ridiculous looking game. John himself sat with an open magazine in front of him, though he wasn't taking any of it in. Robert's car magazines weren't the most interesting things in the world.

"This is absolutely shit," Thomas growled at last, slamming his phone down when it made some kind of drooping sound. John guessed that he'd lost. "How come _I_ have to be stuck here Christmas Eve? I've got better things to be doing than just wasting my time sat at a bloody stupid desk with nothing to do!"

"This is your shift," John reminded him. "I know it's not great that you're stuck here, but someone's got to do it."

"Yeah, well, I think we should close and say fuck you to those fancy pricks who want to chain us here. We've got lives too. It's all right for them because _they're_ already on holiday. I notice that Robert has already gone."

"Yes, and you know that Robert's had a lot on his plate this year. You can't begrudge him this. These are the rules. As management, we take on the less desirable days. We get paid well to do it."

"Well, what about Anna? Her name is down on the scheduling but she's nowhere in sight."

"Anna asked if I would swap with her."

"How very _accommodating_ of you." Thomas' words dripped with sarcasm. John narrowed his eyes, hackles rising at the insinuation—even if, God help him, it wasn't all a lie. At least not on his part.

"She's working the New Year shift for me, so she's not getting any perks that you're not getting."

"And would you have swapped for me if I'd asked?"

"What reason would you have given? That you didn't feel like it?"

"Well, what reason did Anna have?"

"You know her father passed away a few months ago," John growled. "I think she's entitled to be with her family at a time like this."

Thomas scowled, but he didn't argue further. John rubbed his hand over his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to sit here all night trading snipes with the younger man. It was Christmas. He didn't have much Christmas cheer, but bloody hell, he didn't want Thomas to make him feel even worse.

"Tell you what, you get off," he said.

Thomas' eyebrows rose.

"What?" he said, in the tone of voice that brought to mind a rat sensing a trap.

"Go home. Or go out. I don't bloody care."

"You gonna tell Mr. Crawley?"

"No, I'm not going to tell Mr. Crawley. But your long face is giving me a headache, and I've got quite enough to contend with without that as well. Go on, get. I can manage on my own. Go now before I change my mind."

"Not without a guarantee of my pay. I'm not having my wages docked because _you_ said I could go."

"I'll sort it, Thomas. Your money won't be stopped. Now go."

Thomas eyed him warily for a few more moments before gingerly edging past him into the back. John heard him rustling around with his heavy overcoat before he appeared in the doorway again. He didn't even give John a second glance as he made his way towards the revolving doors. Outside, the snow had started to fall. Somehow, it made for a lonely sight.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed painfully slowly. There was nothing to divert his attention, and with most of the guests out for the evening, no problems to fix. All the necessary paperwork had already been completed to make their lives easier the following day. Instead he whiled away his time trying to complete _The Times_ crossword, a feat he was failing spectacularly at. After a half an hour staring at the same clue (how the bloody hell was he supposed to know what a understand what _Down which Father Christmas sped, did you say?_ meant?) he conceded defeat and threw the paper to one side, burying his face in his hands. When this did not make time miraculously speed up, he pulled out his phone, rotating it idly between his fingers. It was nearing midnight now, and he was barely three hours into his shift. Composing several generic _Happy Christmas_ texts, he sent them off to the few people that he communicated with on a regular basis. At least that had wasted an extra five minutes.

Perhaps he could catch a kip for an hour. There was no pressing business right now, and there was always the bell to ring on the front desk should anyone require any assistance.

Before he could push himself to his feet, his message tone went off. Furrowing his brow, he fished in his pocket for the device. That was quick. Robert usually only replied when he wanted something—usually something regarding the business. His mother was utterly hopeless with any new technology, and refused to go anywhere near the devil's handiwork, so she called it.

Sliding the screen across to unlock it, he couldn't stop the smile that blossomed.

It was Anna. Anna had replied to him.

 _Merry Christmas, John! :) I hope your evening isn't too terrible, especially working with Thomas (do not let him see this at any cost!). But seriously, I really am so sorry that you've ended up working tonight when you were supposed to be off, though you can't know how grateful I am to you. I think it's done Mum the world of good to have us here with her and that's all down to you. I will find a way to make it up to you, I promise. Xxx_

The kisses tagged on to the end of the text made his heart speed up unbidden. He knew that they would mean nothing, that she likely tagged them on to the end of every text that she sent, but it still didn't help him. He imagined her sitting there, deliberating over the kisses, wondering whether to send them and then deciding to on a whim…

He shook his head, smiling ruefully. What a fool he was. Quickly texting her back to implore her not to worry about it and he needed nothing to make it up to him, he lingered for just a moment with the signing off.

And he signed it with the same number of kisses that she'd signed his.

Yes, what a fool he was. A fool in too much over his head.

* * *

He had conceded defeat, and switched on the television in the main lobby. With no one around, John thought that a bit of background noise might help his shift to pass a little more quickly. After a quick flick through the channels to determine that there was nothing on worth a watch ( _Love Actually_ , whilst a decent comedy film, certainly did nothing for him with its romantic overtones when he was spending his Christmas alone), he found one of the radio stations. Christmas songs would have to do for the time being. He was almost relishing the time when the hotel residents would come back drunk beyond belief just so that he would have something to throw his efforts into. Then he would go home, sleep for a couple of hours, and go over to his mother's. He knew she'd already got his bed made up for him so that he wouldn't have to drive home on so little sleep. He suspected she was looking forward to the company—although she rarely said it, he knew she got lonely sometimes. He tried to see her as often as possible, but with the unpredictable shifts at the hotel, sometimes it was difficult. Christmas was the perfect time of the year for him to show her his appreciation, to do the cooking and to give her a well-deserved break for all that she had done for him in his life. Not that his stout Irish mother could ever stay still for long. No doubt she would nag him at every turn, criticising his cooking and his cleaning up skills afterwards.

The thought cheered him a little despite himself, and he couldn't stop his small smile. At least until the opening bars of the famous Mariah Carey hit came filtering out of the television. Another reminder of Anna wasn't quite what he needed.

At that moment, he heard the doors sliding open behind him, then the smart click of heels along the smooth tiled floor. Glad for a distraction, John turned around, ready to greet the returning reveller.

His heart soared into his throat.

Anna.

 _Anna_ was crossing the floor towards him.

He had to be dreaming. Closing his eyes and rubbing them furiously, he opened them again, expecting to find her illusion gone. It was because he was feeling moody and melancholy that he was seeing her there. He wasn't going mad. It was just the loneliness of the season that was making him see stupid things.

But Anna did not disappear. And there was something so exquisitely determined about her expression that he simply couldn't have conjured it up.

She came to a rest in front of him, wringing her hands together. She looked unbearably adorable, with a woolly hat covering her ears and brightly coloured mittens adorning her hands. Flecks of snow were melting in the hair that flowed out from beneath her hat, and deepened tiny spots on her bright red coat.

"Hello," she said.

"Anna," John gasped when he found his voice, cringing at how flummoxed he sounded. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you with your family?"

"It's gone midnight," she pointed out. "They've all gone to bed. I wasn't tired."

"So you came out here?" he asked sceptically. "Are you mad?"

Anna shrugged. "Maybe."

Silence fell between them, filled by Mariah Carey singing about the only thing she wanted for Christmas. John cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of how close that was to his own mind set, especially with said crush standing right there in front of him, but Anna didn't seem to notice, pushing past him to settle herself on the reception desk. She swung her legs casually, scrutinising him.

He felt himself flush under her gaze, speaking louder. "What can I do for you?"

"I just didn't like the idea of you being here all alone with Thomas at Christmas. It felt cruel somehow."

"Not that cruel. I sent him home a while ago. He was complaining non-stop and it was giving me a headache."

Anna brightened. "Really? So we're all alone?"

John's scalp prickled, and he tried to temper down the temptation to think about exactly what they could do if they were all alone. "Technically. I make no promises for the drunks that could interrupt at any moment."

"We've dealt with enough of those in our time. Can't we just lock them in the broom cupboard? They probably wouldn't even remember how they got there in the morning."

The flash of her mischievous grin reminded him of a time at the last staff Christmas party, when she had crept after Thomas and Sarah when they had gone outside for a smoke, effectively locking them out because their sour attitudes were spoiling the party. The vivid memory of the two of them banging on the windows and yelling was burned vividly into his mind.

"It's an idea," he agreed. "But I'm not sure how well that would go down with Robert if he were to find out."

"Spoilsport."

He chuckled. "If you say so. Now come on, tell me the truth. What's the real reason for your visit? There's got to be more to it than that."

Anna pouted and hopped off the desk. "You always have to be practical, Mr. Bates. Very well, I'll tell you. I was sitting at home with Mum and my sister and I got your text. And I couldn't stop thinking about you being here all alone when you should have been with your mother."

"Anna, we've just been through this—"

"You are part of my family," she interrupted him, "and I couldn't leave you behind."

The words were unlike any he had ever heard before. He didn't know how to reply. Didn't even know if he could remember how to breathe. Anna stared at him unblinkingly, no anxiety in her bright blue eyes. His fearless warrior.

"Say something," she prompted with a slight smile. "Otherwise you really will unnerve me."

He swallowed hard, emitting a nervous bark of laughter. "I'm not quite sure what I _am_ supposed to say to something like that."

She took a bold step towards him. "Say that it's exactly what you wanted to hear."

His mind went fuzzy at the smell of her perfume. Something beautiful and florally. Seductive. It took every ounce of his self-control not to seize her and plant a kiss on her lips. But nor could he deny her when she spoke so masterfully now. She did not waver.

"John," she said, and just at the sound of his name, the barriers he had erected around his heart long ago finally collapsed in on themselves, unable to hold back the sheer force of nature that she was.

For years, he had sworn off women, damaged by the way that his marriage to Vera had ended. But then Anna had come into his life, making it bloom and pulse with colour once more. He'd started to notice the simple pleasures of the birds singing in the trees, and the fresh smell of newly brewed coffee first thing in a morning, all because they were things that Anna adored. She had changed his life in ways that he could never thank her for.

And yet, he had thought that she was unobtainable. A holy goddess far above him, far too good for a mere mortal man.

They had been friends. Good friends. They had dined out together and taken trips to the cinema when something that mutually appealed to them had been on. They had discussed their favourite books and the drama she had forced him to watch the previous evening. She always chided him for not eating as well as he should, while he argued that he would never be a gourmet chef. He knew there had been rumblings about them before, but the last thing he had ever wanted to do was jeopardise the bond he had with Anna, and he had been unable to believe that she might feel anything beyond the platonic for him no matter what yearnings he had in his own heart.

But there her feelings were, exposed for him to see. Exposed for him to do with as he pleased. Once again, she had been the brave one.

It was wrong. He would drag her down. Perhaps ruin her life.

And yet, with the magic in the air, he was a weak, weak man.

"John," she repeated, more forcefully this time, and he could resist her no longer.

Without waiting for another breath, he leaned forward. He heard her expectant rush of breath, the way that her eyes brightened, and then he closed his own, wanting to preserve the memory in the deepest corner of his mind to remember forever.

Their lips met, and his world exploded.

Anna's mouth was soft, softer even than his wildest daydreams. Her lips were like satin against his, and he was suddenly conscious that his were slightly chapped from the bout of cold weather they had been having. If Anna had any objections, then she did not voice them, instead winding her arms around him and pulling herself even closer to him. He was even more conscious as the swell of her breasts brushed against him, even through the thick layers of her clothing. He wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, so moved them to her waist. It seemed to be a good move; Anna sighed into his mouth, tilting her head a little to make the angle of their kiss even more dizzying.

Feeling the tip of her warm tongue against his lips almost ended him. He started a little in surprise, but Anna only giggled at the broken contact before bringing them back together again. He was more prepared this time as her nose brushed against his and their lips met again, and when she moved to deepen the kiss for the second time he brought his hand to the back of her neck, keeping her in place. She was cold, but he had never been so thoroughly heated in his life. He squeezed his eyes even more tightly closed. It was one dream that he never wanted to wake up from.

When she pulled away, slowly, drawing it out, as if it was the most reluctant she had ever been, he opened his eyes. He was met by her beaming face instantly. He had never seen her looking so full of joy. Certainly not in the months following her father's death. And it was all because of him. It was a heady sensation.

But, just like the end of a high, reality soon crashed back in, burying him with all the harsh, irrefutable facts.

Anna could not waste herself on him. She was so much younger. So vibrant, so full of life. She had her whole life ahead of her. He knew her lust for life. She deserved someone who would share that zeal, who wanted to travel the world and see everything in it. His life had been quiet to say the least since his divorce. What did he do in the evening? He put the TV on and mindlessly flicked through the channels. He read anything he could get his hands on. Beyond that, he didn't have much of a social life. He met up with Anna when she offered, and even offered in return when he didn't feel as if he would be a burden to her or that she might feel obligated to say yes. But other than that, he didn't really _do_ much. He saw Robert every so often, but he didn't spend time with many other people. It suited him just fine, but it wouldn't work for her. People often spoke of having to love someone and let them go, and this was the tragic case for him. God, he would do anything to be with her…but he was not worthy of the honour, and he would not give her second best.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, she moved to kiss him again. He couldn't let it happen. He would be lost if he let it. Before their lips could meet, he jerked away.

"Anna…" he breathed. "Anna, stop."

At those words, she froze. Pulled back and looked deep into his eyes, a look of bafflement upon her face.

"Stop?" she repeated. "I thought you wanted this?"

"It's not that I don't want it," he said hurriedly, wanting to prevent the hurt that was sure to flit across her face—he had seen that expression on her face too many times before, and had no desire to see it aimed directly at him. "Please, don't ever think that. But we shouldn't."

"Why not?" she demanded. "Robert isn't funny about the staff dating. Well, not much. He was sniffy about Tom and Sybil because she was his daughter—"

"No, it's not about Robert," he said, cutting her off. Lord knew his best friend was forever trying to push him in the direction of whatever available female that he could find, stating that he had spent far too much time alone.

"Then what?" Anna's brow creased as she gazed up at him.

He paused for a moment, trying to weigh up the best way of articulating his sacrifice. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I'm not good enough for you," he said.

Now Anna looked more perplexed than ever. "What are you talking about?"

"You can't deny it, Anna. You are everything I'm not. You're kind and gentle and funny. I'm a miserable old bugger, and more years older than you than I care to admit. You're a social butterfly, and I'm not. You need someone who will want to travel the world with you, not someone who is quite comfortable in his own surroundings. You need someone young, not someone ready for the knacker's yard." He heaved a sigh, running his hand through his hair, feeling sick to the pit of his stomach. "You're beautiful, Anna. More beautiful than my words can do justice for you. You deserve a handsome young man to love you, not a disabled, ex-alcoholic."

A part of him expected her to wilt at the end of his speech; he was already dreading putting that hurt look upon her face when just moments before it had been the last thing that he'd wanted. But she was the opposite of that. In fact, he had never seen her more determined. She was on the warpath. And there had only ever been one winner when someone crossed Anna Smith.

He didn't know if he was more frightened or glad.

"And let me tell you some things, John Bates," she said. "You are being a complete idiot. Do you honestly think I care about all of those superficial things? I should be offended."

"You're not superficial," he protested, shamefaced. "That was the last thing that I intended to imply. I'm simply stating some facts. You can't dispute them."

"Watch me," she said. "Firstly, you sell yourself short. You might be a miserable old bugger at times, but you are also kind. You are also gentle. And you have a very lovely sense of humour which I enjoy a lot. It's true that I like to socialise at times, but I don't go out partying every night. I like quiet social gatherings, and I like staying home with a good book or box set even more. And yes, I do like the idea of travelling, but to interesting cultural places, not somewhere like Magaluf. Although…" Her tongue moved firmly in-cheek. "I wouldn't turn down a relaxing week sunning myself in Barbados. It's true that you're older than me, but I have never seen that as an issue. Most men my age are immature pricks and care more about preening themselves in the mirror than doing anything else. You're mature—don't pull that face, I don't mean in an old man kind of way—and I love that. I know that we'll always be on the same wavelength." She paused again, and he felt his scalp prickle as she ran her eyes over him. "And believe me when I say that I find you very attractive, John. Very, _very_ attractive. If you want the honest truth, I haven't noticed another man since I met you. I don't care about your past. That's not the person you are today."

He was left trailing in the wake of her words, but he couldn't give up that easily. For her sake.

"You don't understand what you're saying," he said. "You can't throw your life away on a pretty ideology."

"And you insult me," she shot back. "I know my own mind. I know my own heart. I don't need your help in making decisions for myself, thank you very much."

"In this case, I think you do," he quipped. Rather than make her scowl darken, she shrugged.

"If I ask you something now, will you promise to be completely honest with me?"

"I can try," he agreed reluctantly.

"Because I know that you have been honest with me on everything other than this. I've always trusted you to be honest with me."

She was really playing on his guilt now, the wily thing. She knew what it meant to him to have her trust, how it would defeat him to know that he had disappointed her in some way.

"Tell me truly, John, do you really have no feelings at all for me?"

And there it was, the question he had both dreaded and longed for. The question that had lingered just beneath the surface of their two year friendship almost from the moment that he had met her. And now, faced with this momentous question with her words still ringing in his ears, he found he couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to her. He had never told her an outright lie. He might have skirted around certain subjects, and talked in riddles that had only confused her further, but he had never openly lied. And even now, when he knew that it would be better for them both if he did, he just couldn't do it.

He grappled with his torment for several long moments, before closing his eyes and conceding defeat.

"Of course I have feelings for you," he whispered. To speak any louder would give her the opportunity to hear, and he wouldn't shout it from the rooftops no matter how badly he might want to.

He didn't need to. Because she had heard him anyway. He had never seen a more gorgeous smile on her face as she gazed upon him.

"And that's all I need to know," she said, as if it put an end to all matters. "You have feelings for me. I have feelings for you. It's time we explored that, John. We could have something extraordinary. I can feel it."

"You're very confident."

"It's Christmas. Miracles always happen at Christmas. Don't you trust me?"

"Yes," he admitted. The word didn't convey the weight of his trust in her. He would trust her with his very life if it came to it. There was no one in the world he trusted above her, not even Robert, who he had known for so many years.

"That's all we need," she said, and he had only a second to register the fact that she was leaning forward again, moving right up against him.

Her lips touched his, and he was completely lost. He had already listed the reasons why this could not happen, but when she kissed him like that, it was so very hard to remember even one of them. He could recall nothing beyond the weight of her against him, her hands on his chest, the soft sweetness of her mouth, the heat of her tongue. Perfection.

The fight went out of him. She overpowered him each and every time. He was the lowly worshipper of a benevolent goddess. As his feelings spilled forth, he continued to kiss her ardently, trying to keep up with the pace she was setting, drowning in the glory of her.

Letting go was scary and magnificent and a relief. She was guiding him into the abyss, and he never wanted to let go of her hand.

A commotion by the entrance brought them back to their surroundings, and John sprang back at once, straightening his tie and clearing his throat. Smiling, Anna smoothed down the front of her coat and turned around.

Thankfully, the intruder didn't seem to have noticed anything untoward that had transpired. Too drunk to stand, he had collapsed onto the floor, groaning and complaining that he was going to be sick. Bloody hell, John hoped that wasn't going to be the case. Cleaning up a stranger's sick at one in the morning was the very last thing that he wanted to do.

Bending down to the man's level, he said loudly, "Can I help you to your room, sir?"

The man blinked stupidly at him, his words slurred. "Yeah, mate."

"What floor are you on?"

"D'no."

A helpful start. Rolling his eyes, John managed to get the man's limp arm over his shoulder, heaving him to his feet. Anna ducked around to the other side, offering him extra support.

"Anna, there's no need," he protested.

"There's every need. It'll take half the time with two, and what's the point in struggling alone?"

Conceding defeat with a little smile, he began to guide them in the direction of the lift. He knew that Anna had genuinely offered because she wanted to be of use, not that she didn't think he could manage it on his own.

It took a lot of struggling and coaxing to get the man back up on his feet and into one of the lifts. Once there, he slumped against the sides, like a rag doll with no stuffing. John had to look away from Anna's face as he tried to keep his professionalism intact. The way she was biting her lip to stifle her giggles wasn't helping matters.

"Sir, I need to see your room key," he said loudly over the young man's continued grumblings that he was going to be sick any minute. "Can you remember where you put it?"

"In me pocket," was the slurred answer, and he resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He had a lot of pockets.

"Was it in your jacket?" said Anna coaxingly. "That would make sense, given that you wouldn't want to lose it. Did you put it in the inside pocket, sir?"

The man blinked blearily, as if he was putting a great deal of effort into retracing his steps. "M'be…"

"I'd take that as a yes," Anna said over his head, still fighting to contain her mirth. "Better than going through his trousers, anyway, isn't it?"

She had a point there. John had never groped a man's trousers before, and he didn't fancy starting it now.

"All right, sir, I'm just going to search your jacket pockets for your room key," he said. "Unless you can get the contents out for us yourself? Do you reckon you're up to it?"

"Always up fer it," he muttered, and sluggishly began searching his pockets. The search produced several mints, an old plane ticket, a condom that was clearly not going to be getting any use tonight, and then finally the sacred key. Breathing a sigh of relief, John hooked it out of the man's limp fingers.

"Fourth floor," he told Anna. "Let's get him up there."

Anna nodded, and together they managed to heft him the length of the corridor towards his room. John fumbled with the key and moments later they were inside. Walking him over to the bed, they laid him down gently. The young man didn't seem inclined to move, burying his face against the mattress.

"Ring if you need anything, sir," John said, and with that the two of them backed out of the room.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Anna burst into peals of laughter. John tried to shush her but it only made her giggle louder, and he placed his hand on her back, ushering her along the corridor back towards the lift.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't know what's come over me. I just couldn't take the poor man seriously. He's going to feel that in the morning."

John knew the feeling all too well. It was not something that he could remember with fondness. All those mornings of waking with a chronic hangover and more regret and shame than he could stand. It had led to countless meaningless nights with Vera, when they had both been too drunk for it to be any good for either of them, and the ugly flaws had only shown more prominently in the cold light of day. But after such a wonderful evening he did not want to dwell on such matters. Why would he think about Vera when he had Anna with him?

So, forcing those thoughts out of his mind, he focused on the positives. The way that Anna's face lit up when she laughed. The pretty rosiness in her cheeks. Nudging his fingers against her wrist, he was relieved when she took his hand in her own, though he mourned that her mittens were keeping him from feeling her soft skin properly.

She didn't let go when they reached the reception area again, pulling him boldly from the lift and back towards the desk. But there was more in her tugging, he could sense it. A finality. He knew what was coming. He just didn't want to contemplate it just yet.

A parting of the ways. Goodbye, for the time being at least. A glance at the clock told him that it was getting on for half one. She needed to get home. It was amazing that she had come in the first place. Amazing that she had kissed him. Amazing that she had expressed an interest in seeing him on a more intimate level.

 _She_ was amazing.

"I should go," she whispered breaking through his thoughts and almost reading his mind, "before Mum or my sister notices that I'm missing. Don't want them calling the police or anything."

"Of course," said John. "Text me to let me know you got home safe?"

"I will," she promised him. "Enjoy the rest of your shift."

"How can I not, after what happened tonight? I'm afraid my mother will be able to read it on my face the moment I walk in through the front door."

"I won't complain about that. That's a rather lovely testimonial."

"You're a very lovely woman, Anna. I'm the luckiest man in the world."

"We've been through this already, John. I'm just as lucky to have you."

It was a belief that he could argue against all day, but for now he conceded defeat with a gracious, pleased smile. There would be time for questions later. For now, he needed to do what his wise old mother was always telling him to do. Accept. Find it within his heart to be happy. After all, if Christmas wasn't the right time to seek acceptance and forgiveness, when was?

"I'll see you soon," she told him, reaching up to cup his face. "Enjoy your day today. I'll be in touch."

"I look forward to it already," John murmured, and this time took the initiative. Dipping lower, he meshed his mouth softly against hers, giving her the most loving parting kiss he could conjure up. He felt her lips curve into a smile under his, the most delicious thing he had ever experienced. She clutched at his shirt with iron fingers, as though even now she didn't want to let him go. He didn't want to let her go either, but he had to be the strong one. Giving her a few more innocent pecks for good measure, he pulled away and put some distance between them.

"Go," he joked, "while I still have willpower left."

"I wouldn't mind if it left you," she returned, but she did as bid, moving towards the entrance. With one last lingering look, she disappeared into the night.

He watched her go, the snow falling gently around her and settling into her hair, caught in the yellow light of the streetlamps. He could still taste her last kiss, feel the phantom weight of her arms around him. Already, after such brief moments, he couldn't wait to experience it again.

By the end of his shift, he was weary beyond compare. There was nothing he wanted more than to crawl into bed and sleep. But his spirits were buoyed by the beeping of his phone when he realised that Anna had sent him a text telling him to drive carefully, sealed with three kisses. She must have set her alarm obscenely early to send it, no mean feat when he knew just how much she loathed the early morning starts. In that moment, John found himself falling even more deeply in love with her, unable to stop smiling as he composed a reply.

He had never known a better start to Christmas Day.

* * *

A week later, when New Year's Eve crept round, John found himself not in front of the television all alone as he had envisaged at the start of the year, but at work along with Anna. It was an unconventional date, but somehow it worked. They watched the revellers departing for the evening, stuck behind the desk. They played cards and ate the sweets that Anna had brought and talked intimately. And, when midnight came around, they disappeared into the office long enough for a good heated snog. John had never felt so young or alive.

His fears about their compatibility were finally assuaged as time progressed. They had short breaks to Paris and Madrid and Florence (not seeing quite as many of the sights as they had planned; the romantic air certainly worked its magic). They spent nights tangled together in front of the fire, reading much-treasured books. They had quiet meals out. And on the occasions where their friends had parties, they joined in and had more fun than John ever thought they could.

And that first Christmas led into a second. The second into a third. The pattern continued onwards, with the new tradition meaning that they never spent the holidays apart again. Dating became living together. Living together became marriage. Marriage led to the family that John had never realised that he'd wanted until Anna walked into his life.

Christmas was never lonely or hated again.


End file.
